


The Courtship Dance

by PaintedGlass



Category: Labyrinth (1986)
Genre: Attempt at Humor, F/M, Fluff and Crack, Misunderstandings, What Have I Done
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-13
Updated: 2015-08-13
Packaged: 2018-04-14 13:23:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4566216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PaintedGlass/pseuds/PaintedGlass
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jareth and Sarah must decide what it is they want - what they really, really want. A modern, mildly worrying twist on an age-old tradition.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Courtship Dance

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote something with a T rating! I really cannot apologise enough for it.  
> All song lyrics are, of course, from 'Wannabe', by the Spice Girls.

“ _Yo, I'll tell you what I want, what I really, really want.  
So tell me what you want, what you really, really want …”_

It's a sight that's almost cliché, overdone in far too many chick flicks over the past few years. A posing, pouting slip of a figure – old enough to know better – standing in front of their bedroom mirror, hairbrush in hand, wailing into their makeshift mic as the music blares around the otherwise empty room. There's dancing as well as singing, hips sashaying to the beat, mouth moving to the music, striking the exact same practised, sexy little poses for their imaginary audience that they have in mind for their _intended_ one.

“ _If you want my future, forget my past._  
_If you wanna get with me, better make it fast …”_

Is it foolish to think a little pop music and a silly little girl's dance might really make the one they want – the one they really, _really_ want – see sense at last? Probably. It doesn't hurt to try, and the song does grow on you after a while, even if it's a little repetitive. The lyrics, while a little nonsensical at times, do give some real meaning to the growing desire between them. Soon, they'll need to discuss exactly what it is they both want.

“ _Get your act together, we could be just fine …”_

There's potential for that, at least. It's been ten years, time in which they've both had a little space to grow up – guilty pop music pleasures aside. A girl grown into a woman, a man grown perhaps a little softer, a little less fearsome in his old age. In that time, certain parties have learned a little leniency, whereas certain other parties have learned, at last, to lessen their childish demands. They're talking again, and that's the important part – only through magic and mirrors, so far, but it's becoming more certain that both of them want more.

“ _Make it last forever, friendship never ends …”_

Both of them know just how long forever can really be.

“ … _Now you know how I feel._ _Say you can handle my love …”_

A little grind of the hips now, through the silly rap segment; another naughty little pout and a wink at the mirror. There's a certain satisfaction in knowing that, even though you shouldn't be doing such things to begin with, you're far better than the countless teenage girls who have no doubt tried to perfect a dance like this. The figure in the mirror is fabulous and damn near flawless. The kicks, the twirls, the shimmys, the perfect hip rolls and crotch thrusts – only the little ass shake on that last 'slam your body down' needs some work.

“ _Slam-ya-body-down-with-a-zigazig-oh-dear-_ gods _-what-am-I-doing?”_

No. It has to be _perfect._

“Your Highness, Your Highness!”

With a flick of his wrist, the hairbrush is safely back within his dresser, the upbeat music dying a quick death. The slightly sweaty, slightly dishevelled Goblin King stands with his hands perched on his slim hips, his mismatched eyes narrowed as he glares at the intruder into his bedchambers. He clears his throat excessively. “Gods be damned, worm-for-brains, I told you miserable little lot _never_ to interrupt me while I'm … ah … scheming.”

The goblin wrings his tiny hands together. “Begging your forgiveness, Your Highness, but it's about the girl, the one who ate the peach.”

Excitement flutters deep within his bare chest, but Jareth hides it with a well-placed scowl. “What of her?”

“She's finally asked to meet with you tonight, Sire – something about dinner, and … and 'redefining terms'. It sounds like she finally might be ready to give surrender after all these years.”

Jareth purses his lips a moment. “Have my best cloak ironed, cancel all of my afternoon meetings, and remove yourself from my private chambers at once. Inform Miss Williams that I will collect her personally for her audience with the king, no later than seven.”

The goblin scurries off to do his bidding, and only then does the Goblin King allow himself a smile, sharp teeth flashing in the mirror. This is it. She's finally agreed to a meeting in person, the one where he'll show her exactly what dreams he can offer her – and how better to do it than to do it to the rhythm of her own alluring mortal music? The tango, salsa, mambo, cha-cha-cha – zesty Latin American dances, all choreographed perfectly to entice, to seduce. Times have changed since the last time he took a good listen to the music scene Aboveground, but if the research he had his goblins do is correct, then these ' _Spice Girls_ ' are the newest note in the old songs of seduction.

From his sly owl's perch close by her bedroom window – a different bedroom now to the one of her childhood, thank the gods – he's heard his Sarah describe the music as silly, as a guilty pleasure for someone as old as she is. So many nights he's longed to swoop down and tell her she's wrong (of course, he can't; he respects her privacy far too much to actually peep in unless she called on him to do so) – that a stunning woman in her twenties is hardly _old_ , and that, perhaps, she's still a little too naïve to appreciate the song's finer points. She's not yet old enough to be a true connoisseur of music, as he himself is.

Why, in those early days, where she would only deign to speak to him through the passed on messages from her ridiculous friends – Hogweed, the enormous, dimwitted orange thing, and that … that yappy little rat bastard – he would often hear snatches of the music she listened to, and long to educate her – hell, to _dance_ with her. Between her realm's musical customs and his own, they're destined to be the perfect match.

He idly traces the jut of his hip bones above the low slung leggings he wears, taking a moment to admire the taut and toned plane of his abdomen, now glistening with sweat. He definitely has more in his arsenal than some giggling, gawkish teenage girl to seduce his intended with. He slides a palm down along his flat stomach to his well-packaged package, giving his reflection a half-hearted little hip roll and another wink. His beloved won't stand a chance at resisting him – not with this beautiful body, not with this most perfect of courtship dances.

If all goes to plan, Sarah will be more than willing to give her surrender by the time he's through. Tonight might just be the night she deigns to partake in the oddly-named human custom of 'zigazig-ha' with him, after all.

For now, there's plenty more time to perfect that ass shake before seven.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Blame exhaustion, a free fifteen minutes, and an offhand comment on one of my other fics about Jareth singing 'Wannabe' to Sarah that just got stuck in my head. I don't think anyone could possibly have anticipated the dark depths to which this would go :P I wanted it to be vague enough for it to seem like Sarah could be the one doing the seduction, but who am I kidding? We all know who wears the dance pants in this relationship.
> 
> 1001 apologies to the good name of David Bowie, written fiction as a whole, and to anyone who has been subjected to reading this in particular. In fact, if you have actually read it, you must immediately give penance by silently reciting 5 'Hail Bowie's to be forgiven.


End file.
